Sherlock and John
by junejuly15
Summary: Sequel to ICEMAN. Sherlock and John have spent their first night together and try to cope with their new relationship status. Dialogue/Humour/Romance/Johnlock


**This is the sequel to my story **_**Iceman**_**. Sherlock and John have spent their first night together and need to find a way to cope with their new relationship status.**

**Enjoy reading! Reviews would be much appreciated..! **

**Obviously I don't own anything…**

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><p><strong>Sherlock and John<strong>

John woke with a start.

It was pitch black and he had no idea where he was. After a moment his eyes adjusted to the darkness and when he looked around he could make out the faint outlines of a window, a chair. That seemed familiar – thank God.

He felt a bit woozy. He looked around him some more. He was certain that he wasn't in his own room. But this room and this bed weren't entirely alien to him either.

The bed he was lying on was very narrow. At least that's how it seemed to him because he was confined to a tiny space in the corner of it.

He was naked, but he wasn't cold. He could feel heat radiating from somewhere next to him.

His eyes, now adjusted to the darkness, moved slowly towards the source of this heat. He saw a naked body; a naked back to be more precise. A lean, but muscular naked back with pale, smooth skin. When his eyes roved further downwards he saw a perfectly rounded backside only half covered by the sheets. Undoubtedly male.

His eyes quickly moved up again towards the upper regions of this body lying next to him.

He saw dark curly hair and the beautiful half-profile of Sherlock. Peacefully sleeping.

John grinned to himself. He felt content. Very much so. Like the cat that got the cream, actually.

Fully awake now he settled back on the bed trying to shuffle around for a bit more space. Sherlock grunted.

Typical of him to occupy more than half of the bed. Not that John would have known that before last night. Last night! - John really couldn't wipe that grin off his face.

He turned so that he spooned Sherlock's body and put his hand on his flat belly. He gently planted a kiss between the smooth shoulder blades. Sherlock moved backwards a bit so that their bodies completely touched.

'Hmm,' Sherlock murmured sleepily, 'my thoughts precisely.'

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><p>'How do you like it?' John was busy in the kitchen. He had cleared a space on the kitchen table. For that purpose he had had to move aside a microscope, several dirty test tubes and three Petri dishes which looked as if something alive inhabited them.<p>

Sherlock entered the kitchen, fully dressed. 'What do you mean?' He had taken a shower, his hair was still damp. John walked over to Sherlock and kissed him. He smelt fresh and clean.

'Your post-love-night-breakfast. How do you like it?'

'Quick. I need to be gone.'

'Oh,' John sounded disappointed, 'I thought we'd have a nice breakfast. The two of us. Talk a little.'

'What would we have to talk about?' Sherlock tried to make light of it, but he saw that John was hurt.

'I don't know,' John shrugged, 'about us.'

'Sorry. That needs to wait. Lestrade texted me. He wants to see me.' Sherlock felt uneasy, the lie had come a little too quickly to him.

'I'll come with you then,' John made a move towards the hall.

'No,' Sherlock quickly said, stopping John in his tracks, 'he wants to see me alone.'

John became quiet. He nervously fiddled with the teabags he was holding. Suddenly he felt cold. 'Sherlock. You don't regret what happened, do you?' he asked.

'Should I?' What a stupid, stupid reply that was, Sherlock thought. What am I trying to do here?

'Of course, not. You just seem to be uncomfortable.' John couldn't assess the situation. It didn't feel right. It wasn't at all what he had expected.

'It's just … I don't want to force you into something. I only thought we might want to talk about us and about what happened. See where we stand now.'

'How quaint,' Sherlock said smugly.

John frowned. Sherlock noticed it. Wrong remark again, he thought, how stupid. He wasn't able to stop himself though.

'Really, John, I don't have any more time now. Lestrade's waiting.'

He pecked John on the cheek, put on his scarf and coat and left.

John stood there perplexed. Or maybe not so perplexed after all because how on earth could he have expected Sherlock to react like any other normal man?

What had happened last night had been anything but normal. Not for him and most certainly not for Sherlock.

Sherlock, confessing to him last night. Confessing that he had never loved before, not with his heart and not with his body. John knew for certain that one of these matters had been seen to. But he wasn't at all sure about the other one.

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><p>Sherlock didn't venture far. In fact he didn't even leave the house. He only got as far as the stairs in the downstairs hall. There he sat down facing the main door, thinking about the last awkward moments. He pondered the fact that he had felt the need to leave. To be alone. He really couldn't say why, but the need had been almost overwhelming.<p>

Last night had changed everything. For him, for them. Contrary to what John feared he had no regrets. John who thought he had been the one in charge last night when it had been in fact Sherlock who had played him like a puppet on a string.

Because he had wanted it so much. He had wanted _John_ so much. He thought of John, of how gentle and loving he had been. How passionate.

His heart made a leap. What a pleasant sensation, he thought. I wouldn't mind feeling that more often. I wouldn't mind feeling John more often.

No, it certainly wasn't John who troubled him.

He wasn't sure about himself. It troubled him that he wasn't sure if he was good enough for John. If he could live up to his expectations.

What if he wasn't up to John's standards? What if he annoyed him_? - _More than now? Sherlock had to admit that he probably needn't worry on that account - But what if John became bored with him or what would be much worse if John started to bore him? What if the physical attraction faded? What if there was nothing left then?

What if John found out that he was hollow?

What if John could fill that void?

Sherlock found many things to fret about; but actually, there was so much more that drew him towards John.

He loved the way John contradicted him, how he put him in his place when he had been socially ungraceful again. He loved the way John was at his side when they were working, a silent understanding bonding them. He loved the way John feigned ignorance, this way he had to ask back when he wasn't entirely sure about something.

They were an unlikely pair, but that was a turn-on really. That their bodies fitted well together he smugly had to admit. And their hearts? Sherlock was as certain as he could be about his own feelings. Since he had no experience with this kind of situation he could only speculate about John. Well, a little more than that really. And if last night was any indicator … Sherlock grinned.

He wondered how the people around them would perceive them as a unit, as a couple, as lovers. Not that he overly cared what others thought about his sexual orientation, but he knew that people's opinions mattered to John.

Sherlock smirked when he thought about telling Anderson. Or better still: show him! That would stun the ignorant sod into silence.

He continued sitting there, thinking. And he felt relieved because these few minutes alone had shown him one thing: He knew for sure that there was no way back for him, and what was more important, that he didn't want one.

All of a sudden a voice piping up next to him made him start.

'Sherlock, dear, what are you doing here? Why aren't you upstairs? With John?'

Mrs Hudson sounded concerned but, strangely enough, also very cheerful.

'Oh, nothing much, Mrs Hudson. Just sitting around,' Sherlock answered and smiled up at her. He was aware that his behavior must seem odd. She didn't seem to mind though, but bent down to Sherlock instead and said in a low voice.

'By the way. Congratulations, boys!' and winked at him.

'What for?' Sherlock demanded, a dreadful thought creeping up in his mind.

Mrs Hudson in her cheerful morning mood confirmed his fears promptly. He was astounded to notice that she seemed to suppress a girlish giggle.

'It's an old house, Sherlock. Rather thin walls – and I don't sleep well.' She paused meaningfully for effect before adding almost in a whisper, 'And my bedroom is right below yours.'

'Oh,' Sherlock said. She cheekily winked at him and Sherlock flushed crimson. Seeing his reaction Mrs Hudson was quick to reassure him.

'Oh, don't you fret, my dear. I don't mind at all and it was about bloody time!'

Sherlock was a little surprised to hear Mrs Hudson swear. She beamed at him, obviously waiting for him to respond. But Sherlock couldn't, he was somewhat mortified that Mrs Hudson had… Oh, for the grace of God!

'So, why are you sitting here, all dressed up? Off you go, straight up to him. It's really not right to let him alone now.' She patted his arm in a motherly and also encouraging fashion. Sherlock weakly nodded.

'No more time for idle chatter, my dear. I need to dash to get the shopping done for the weekend. If you boys can find the time, do come in for tea this afternoon.' Again she winked at Sherlock and left.

He sat there for another minute or so, stupefied, but once he got over what she had just told him, he could see it quite clearly: Mrs Hudson in her simple view of the world had hit it spot-on.

Of course, running away from the breakfast table, sitting in the dark hall and avoiding John had been childish. Of course, this kind of behavior could not lead anywhere. He could see now that it had been inappropriate. Somehow he was sure that lovers wouldn't act that way. Again his heart made a leap when he thought of John and himself as lovers.

So Sherlock decided to tackle it head-on. He got up, brushed down his coat and bounded up the stairs to their flat.

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><p>John was surprised to hear Sherlock coming back so soon after he had left. Barely ten minutes later to be precise. John had first busied himself with making breakfast to overcome his disappointment. Tea, toast, butter, marmalade. But Sherlock's sudden departure had really killed any appetite he had worked up last night. So he had left the breakfast untouched on the kitchen table and had moved on to the living room. He was standing at the windows looking down on Baker Street when Sherlock came back.<p>

John turned to face Sherlock. His heart made a leap and he felt a stirring of desire when he saw him. Sherlock looked pale but determined. John felt insecure and he had no idea what to expect now.

Sherlock looked at John, his gaze very intense. He dropped his eyes and when he looked back up he had the grace to look abashed. He noisily cleared his throat and then said 'Listen, John. I'm sorry.'

'Right,' was all John managed. He stayed where he was, close to the windows. He waited.

Sherlock continued, 'John, what happened last night was amazing.'

'Absolutely amazing'

'I have been longing for that for weeks.'

'For months and months, actually.'

'I don't think there could be anything better.'

'It was only the beginning.'

Sherlock hesitated. He looked a bit out of his depths. But then a smile played around his lips and he continued.

'There are just a few things I want to have established.'

'Like what?' John was curious now. Where was this heading?

'We will continue working together as before. I will be the one to tell Anderson and you won't make me do all those lovey-dovey things. No candlelit dinners, no moonlight walks and most importantly don't call me darling, sweetheart, honey pie, cherry blossom or any other such name. And ...'

'Yes. Yes. No, and?'

'I will not meet your parents.'

John snorted, 'Agreed.'

John felt exhilarated when he walked over to the smirking Sherlock. He grabbed hold of his scarf and kissed him. This time Sherlock knew how to respond; and so he did: immediately and with passion. John let go of the scarf and slipped his arms inside Sherlock's suit jacket, caressing his back, embracing him. Sherlock arched his back and let out little moans of pleasure; that made John smile and kiss him with new force.

John helped Sherlock to shed scarf, coat and suit jacket. He worked the buttons of Sherlock's shirt for a while without success, cursing under his breath.

'For f…'s sake what is it with those buttons! I never thought I'd say that, but right now I hate these tight shirts you're wearing,' he said with gritted teeth.

That brought on another fit of Sherlock's giggles. It always astonished John that someone as cerebral as Sherlock could lose himself in this silly and lovable giggling.

Together they finally managed to get the shirt off. And seeing Sherlock's beautiful naked torso in broad daylight did all the right things to John's midsection. Not that Sherlock noticed; he was very busy getting off John's jumper and then his shirt, his turn to nervously fumble with the buttons, his face being a study of concentration. John started to giggle again and they collapsed laughing on the floor in a tangle of limbs.

They lay there for a while. On the rug in front of the sofa, panting, half-naked; content just to look at each other for the moment. Sherlock studied John and traced the outlines of his face with his fingers as if memorizing it with all his senses. John moved closer to him and covered his face with kisses. Relishing the softness of the skin, bathing in its beauty. Still amazed that this was all his now.

'Sherlock' John murmured; burying his mouth in his hair. Then he broke off to look at Sherlock again. He smiled lopsidedly and tentatively said 'My love.' And tracing Sherlock's lips with his thumb he asked, 'How do you like it?'

And as before Sherlock asked 'What do you mean?'

'This. Us. You and me. Sherlock and John.'

'Fine. John,' Sherlock softly said and smiled, 'It's all fine.'


End file.
